Weekly expositor. (Brockway Centre, Mich.) 1882-1894, 1887-05-26
CHAPTER XVIII.
"NnsTREsS AND MAID"

Alone once more-alone with sorrow
and dispair more bitter than death
alone with such unrelsoning terror,
such wild alarm; the wonder was that
she did not drop down dead. Before
her, in great scarlet letters burning like
flame was the one word divorce
She must escape that. She was so
young. and she had so little experience
of life: she had never read newspapers
she had never heard any convers ltion
on current events; the only thing she
knew was this. that she heard David
Arson tell her father that lady named
Ogilvie had taken poison. She turned
quickly to him and asked, "Why did
she do that?"
And the answer was, Because she
was an innocent woman, and her nus
band dragged her through the mire
and the shame of the Divorce Court"
The words had impress sed her at the
tune. and now they returned to her
with greater force than ever. Dimly
through dark gathering shadows, she
saw before her horrors that she could
hardly recognize. Should she ever do
as that poor lady had done, rush out of
the world because she could not bear
the disgrace Of life?
.Divorce.o She, Marguerite Marine,
who had been like white lily; she,
who had hardly known the common
places of life, much less it's vices; she
TO be cited before that dreadful tribu-
nal: she to have her story told every
where. in every journal, in every paper;
TO have told by the jeering lips of men
and the laughing lips of women the
story in which there was so little truth
and 80 much shame; that delicate, beau
tiful love story, which had been the
sweetest and vaguest of mysteries even
10 berself-that beautiful love story
which had been like dream, to be held
ND to scorn and ridicule; to be dragged,
torn and tattered before the gaze of
the VIII ole world. The beautiful love
story which had made her heart beat,
her pulse thrill-which had been the
only CLEAN of light in the wide world
for her. to be told with thousand ex-
agerations in public; she could not
bear it.
True she loved him-true, that,
thinking no evil, she had kissed him.
She had buried her face on his breast,
she had hidden him loving, tender
farewell, but how could she bear to
hear every detail of this which had
been the one love scene OF her life!-
how could she bear to have 1t discussed
and laughed at all over England, she
who had blushed even to think of those
the only caresses she had ever given in
her life.
What should she do? She could never
face it-never bear 1t. She Marguerite
Marine, whose life had been guarded as
is the golden heart Of lily in its white
chalice, she TO stand pilloried before
the eyes of the world. No, she could
not bear it. And he-if he came to
read it-oh, shame and sorrow-better
any torture, better any death than this.
What could she do? For one half mo-
ment she stopped with the terrible
thought of death before her. 1t would
be so much easier TO die and leave 1t
all-life would hold no more for her
now-die and leave it-but there was
the thought of Sunbeam and eternity.
She could not leave that beloved child
forever, nor dare to face an angry
judge.
but death seldom comes when mortals
cry for il. Suddenly, as she beats her
hands together in helpless pain
suddenly an idea occurs to her. she
would go home to the quiet cottage In
the trees-back to the dreamy, beau
tiful melodies-back to the old life.
and forget this dream of love and pain.
She could do that. And once safe with
her father, she would persuade him
to leave England, and go where every
sound is music--to the beautiful, farrell
land OF Italy. She would go-she
would never live to face the horrors
.nI tarrora IF dfvnrca onarf
One thing came clearly to her mind
In the chaos OF dread and fear. She
must go-go quietly without any one
knowing-before her husband came
home. She had ceased almost In that